


watch how well i'll fake it

by doingthewritethings



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: "what'd you do this summer claire" made mistakes, //pours found family trope all over myself, Basically, Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Kind of crack-ish, Probably at least a little OoC, and i come kick ur ass behind a texaco at 3:45 am, angst but not, as always this is probably not canon compliant in any way, au where damien becomes a better person instead of becoming a bitter person, bc canon damien is a huge asshole but just, binge watching netflix can right all wrongs, boyfriends being annoyingly fluffy, consider this What Could Have Been, damien is a good person au, double whoops, hand wavy canon, i got lectured for writing this at the beach, if you tag this as adam/damien you get sued, my trash can son the walking meme, sorry I don't make the rules - Freeform, that then veers off into au-landia, the beginning is just a straight transcript, the same as the podcast honestly, the usual amount of moral ambiguity, this is definitely not canon, this is what my brain hyperfocused on for like a week, warning for self harm and panic attacks, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doingthewritethings/pseuds/doingthewritethings
Summary: He's been in the house for three days after that, refusing to speak to anyone at all, when the first box of Captain Crunch shows up.or, the one where instead of Caleb losing his shit, Damien succeeds in kidnapping Adam, and it goes significantly better than one would expect.





	watch how well i'll fake it

**Author's Note:**

> I finished the season finale of tbs and i had So Many Feelings that i started writing this. I wrote a TON of this at the beach and when I was supposed to be asleep bc school. Occupational hazard of having too many ideas.
> 
> all the usual warnings apply as with everything involving damien. he's a significantly better person than in canon, so this is what i like to call 'damien except he decided to have some human decency'. disclaimer: this is definitely not canon damien bc canon damien is A Total Douche but you can pry this au from my cold dead hands
> 
> i guess this could be seen as sketchy bc adam's definitely kidnapped, but i mean there's not any harm involved and adam makes it Very Clear when he's angry about something. damien's mostly just annoying, so it's really more of a platonic beauty and the beast thing imo.
> 
> with all that out of the way, enjoy this self indulgent trash (where, instead of writing porn, i'm ace so i write good communication and angst.)

 

As soon as they reach Sam's safe house, barely before the alarm system can be powered on, the door swings open, and everyone in the room stops. Damien saunters in, smirk plastered on his face, tattered Adidas hoodie draped around him. Adam has never wanted to kill a man more.

"Oh, goody, the whole gang is here."

"Damien-" Mark starts.

Caleb wraps his hand tightly around Adam's, and there is nothing he needs more.

"Nope- nobody move an inch, capisce? No one say a word."

Automatically, they all stop, not coming to a complete crawl, but definitely not moving anymore.

"That’s not how this works anymore-"

"Stop fighting me on this, Mark. I’ve been doing this longer than you. I _will_ win."

"Damien, just leave. We can’t do anything for you-" Dr. Bright tries.

"Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. You, emo kid - you’re coming with me." The words hang in the air, the weight of them heavy and palpable, and Adam feels his skin turn to ice. He wants to go with Damien, wants it more than he's wanted anything-

_Shit._

"No way," Caleb says, and Adam deeply, deeply wishes for once that his boyfriend knew when to stay out of things.

"Oh, looks like someone’s grown up a little bit since I last saw him."

"Damien, just go away," Chloe begins. She still has her purse in her hand, having just begun to go out the door and get some things everyone had asked her for.

Somehow, Damien managed to get there only barely after them, so someone must have told him the address and then forgotten, because if he didn't want them to remember, why would they?   
They'd lost one member of their party to the man in front of them already, and Adam is faced with the deeply terrifying reality that he is about to be next.

"Damien, just get out of here," Mark says, and if looks could kill-

"Not without the kid."

"Okay," Adam says, casually as accepting tomatoes on his hamburger. Why shouldn't he go? What could possibly go wrong, and besides, he wants to-

Shit, shit, _shit_.

Caleb's fingernails dig into his palm, grounding him. "No, Adam, fight it. What do you want with him?"

Damien grins. "It seems his viper of a relative can actually feel affection. I have a feeling she’ll be more inclined to give me what I want if I’ve got her favorite nephew over the coals."

"And what exactly do you want from Wadsworth?" Chloe asks.

"Haven’t you heard? She can make people immune to atypicals. Pretty neat, huh?"

Sam appears to snap back into the present. "Wait, what? She actually-"

"It would appear so, yes," says Dr. Bright.

"How long have you known about this?"

"Sam, I-"

"Anyway, I need some of her magic mushrooms or whatever and why are we even talking about this? Come on, kiddo, let’s get out of here." Adam focuses on clearing his mind, and then cluttering it, and then just repeating the same phrase over and over. Nothing is working.

"No, stop, you’re not taking him anywhere!"

Damien's tone is the equivalent of an eye roll. "God, you sure are a pain. Do you not get how this works? I want stuff and it happens. And you are powerless to stop me."

"No, let me tell you how this works, Damien. You’ve got a room full of people who are really, really angry at you right now."

"Aw, you trying to hurt my feelings?"

"I know you don’t care about what people think of you, Damien, but this anger it’s- it’s stronger than what you want."

Adam can feel his boyfriend beginning to hyperventilate next to him, and Mark speaks before he can. Empaths. "Caleb, just stay cool, okay? Damien, you can’t keep us all in line forever, you’re straining it already. Just leave."

"I will. But he’s coming with me."

"No way," Caleb says, and even though he wishes his boyfriend would stay in his lane when dealing with a homicidal megalomaniac, he is infinitely grateful. "Get away from Adam."

"No can do, kiddo."

"Seriously, Damien."

"Well, I’d love to stay and watch you furrow your brow some more, but we’ve got an auntie to go visit. Come now, Adam," he says, as if calling a particularly loyal dog.

"Adam, don’t listen to him-" Chloe says, but it's like hearing it through a wall of water. It seems so silly to not give in. This is what will make him happy, right? Of course.

"I- I can’t-"

"If you do anything to him, I swear-" Caleb shouts.

"Aw, don’t worry, big guy, I just need to get his aunt’s attention. I’ll only hurt him a little."

"I'm sorry!" Adam says, and he feels himself give in to the hand clenching his heart, enveloping his mind, telling him to move forward and out the door.

"Adam, no-" Caleb yells, and he sounds so shattered that Adam feels it deep in his bones. He steps outside to the beautiful lake view and forest he had admired just a few minutes ago, and gets in Damien's car. He considers that this is what he gets for trying to play in a game he doesn't know the rules for, trying to keep up in a world filled with empaths and mind readers that he is overwhelmingly normal in the face of.

Damien's control on him loosens slightly as he focuses on driving, not enough for Adam to move, but enough to relax his posture and move his mouth.

"Where are you taking me?" he demands.

Damien starts, as if he's forgotten that Adam was there. "What?"

It's Adam's turn to roll his eyes. "You've dragged me here, into a remodeled hearse that reeks of cigarette smoke, and you're not going to tell me what you're going to do to me." He should keep his mouth shut, probably, but he's so sick and tired of dealing with bullshit for today.

"Well, that's a bit of a tricky question to answer. It'd be nice to just find out when we get there."

"It'd be nice to know now."

"Wouldn't you rather go to sleep?" Damien asks. It's the kind of voice one hears and immediately wishes to forget, the silky kind that promises to make its lies enticing.

"No-" Adam tries, but he continues.

"You must be out of it after this entire day of going on the run, and making your parents worry, and I can't imagine it's been easy being around your friends, the walking personifications of stress."

He wants to stay awake, wants to see where he's being taken so when he leaves he'll know exactly where to go. However, it's true that he's exhausted, and numb, and he was on his way to take a nap before this whole damn ordeal started. He leans back and closes his eyes.

The last thing he registers is Damien mumbling, "Didn't think that would actually work," before he blacks out completely. 

* * *

 

When Adam comes to again, he's in a room with no windows. It looks like every stereotypical spy movie Caleb has made him watch: dark walls, hands cuffed to a chair, only a sliver of light coming through the door around the outline of-

Damien.

Adam looks at him and remembers the good old days when he had been kidnapped exactly zero times, the normal amount of times one would expect to be kidnapped.

"What do you want with me?" he demands, willing his voice to shake as little as possible.

"You know exactly what I want with you, Hayes."

"I really don't, Damien. You dragged me to your warehouse in the middle of nowhere, and you're not even going to tell me what you did it for." His head is still spinning, and he's only really learned how to behave in a hostage situation off the internet. Wikihow had better not fail him now.

"Aw, look at that. Trying to be so brave and noble, just like your boyfriend." Damien takes a step towards him, leaving him to wince away from the light.

"You leave Caleb out of this!" he snarls.

"Well, why don't you tell me what you know, and I'll see what I can do?"

"I will never tell you anything."

Damien steps forward, hand raised as if to strike, and Adam whimpers despite himself. He laughs coldly. "That's what I thought. Now, to begin."

Adam feels a deep, searing pain in the back of his head that grows as he clenches his teeth, trying to keep himself silent. "Tell me your name."

"No."

"You know you want to."

Adam stares into Damien's coal black eyes, and bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. Slowly, his resolve weakens, and Damien's lip quirks upward.

"That's it. Just your name. Everyday information." Adam opens his mouth.

"Burn. In. Hell."

Damien's eyebrows raise practically above his hairline. "Impressive. Must get some of this from hanging around Dr. B so much. Let's see if you can keep up that resistance-"

He pulls out a syringe, and Adam feels himself close to the edge of hyperventilation.

Suddenly, Damien loses his composure.

Not crying, or shouting, like Adam would expect from an interrogation, no; he breaks out in laughter. Full blown _cackling_. 

Strolling over to the corner, he gives the bird to what appears to be a video camera, and wipes his eyes on the corner of his sweatshirt. "That was impressive. I think that should be enough footage, though. Twist that second knot to the left and everything should come undone. I'll be in the living room if you need me."

Adam is deeply, _deeply_ confused, but he stands up anyway, ropes falling to the ground. Once he swings the door open, there's a small but comfortable living room that opens up into a kitchen. There are a few doors he assumes are bathrooms or closets, and a staircase leading up to the second floor. Damien is sprawled across the couch, reading a book. He doesn't look up when Adam enters the room.

"What the _hell_?" Adam demands.

"What?"

"You're just gonna- gonna let me roam around? What if I leave? What're you gonna do then?"

"There's a state of the art security system, and besides, you don't want to leave." Damien turns the page and glances over at Adam, who is still shaking, waiting for the adrenaline to drain out of his system and not entirely sure that's a good thing. "You okay?"

"What- no, Damien, I'm not okay, I'm stuck in a house for who knows how long with a lunatic who can make me do whatever he wants. How do I know you're not completely crazy, that you won't make me stab out my eyes? Assault me? Torture me? God, make me feel things for you?"

He actually looks up from his book at that. "First of all, stabbing out your eyeballs is an incredibly inventive suggestion. Two, wow, okay, what kind of person do you think I am? You're like, seventeen. I'm 28."

"Oh, I don't know, just the kind of person who would start losing their shit in the middle of threatening me!" Adam says, flinging his hands into the air.

Damien's brow furrows. "Hold on. Did you- did you really think I was gonna hurt you?"

Adam perches himself atop an armchair on the other side of the room, balancing on the back. "Well, kinda, yeah. Imagine where I could have gotten that idea. Certainly not the actual threats of death and dismemberment. What have you done to make me believe anything else?"

Damien stares at him, wide-eyed. "Oh. Oh, boy, you must have been scared to death, were you not awake when I said that was all for show, I thought you were just an impressive actor, fuck-"

It takes Adam a second to process this information. "...So I'm not likely to die here?"

"What? No, of course not. Besides, your boyfriend would 100% kill me, if one of the others didn't get there first. I do, however, need to keep you here. As leverage. I'll admit, this was probably... not the most well thought out plan. But I really didn't mean to scare you back there."

Adam rolls his eyes but doesn't move from his precarious position on the chair.

"I swear on my honor that no harm will come to you while you're here."

"I'm not sure that honor's worth much," Adam says, smirking when Damien glares at him. "But, speaking of, how long do you plan on keeping me here? You couldn't, I don't know, let me pack a bag or something?"

"Oh! Yeah, about that, you had bags back at the safehouse, so I kinda... anyway, they're here now."

Adam sighs. "Of course they are."  
  
"Listen. I swear I just need you for a month, if that. I just... I need Wadsworth to give me some of that serum. Then you can go free."

Adam gives him an I-am-seriously-questioning-your-sanity look. "You really think this is gonna work. You really believe that antagonizing the boss of a sketchy government agency out to get us all by kidnapping her nephew is the best way you could have possibly gone about this."

Damien nods. "Pretty much."

He throws his hands in the air. "Why do you even want this?"

"It'll make me invulnerable to everyone."

Adam gives him another one of his trademark Looks Of Long-Suffering. "Okay. Now the real reason."

Damien sighs. "I thought your friend was supposed to be the only telepath around here."

"You're not as hard to read as you would like to think."

"Fine. Fine, I want it because it'll make everything shut up. Okay?" he says, eyes clenched shut. "I'm supposed to get you to tell _me_ things. This isn't how it works."

Adam nods slowly. "So you want your ability to go away. You want to stop being an atypical."

"That sums it up."

"Why?"

Damien bristles. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Adam has heard the absolute worst about Damien, and he's fairly certain this is the person who's tried to kill his boyfriend, public enemy number one. He's not entirely sure he isn't being manipulated, or mind-controlled, or something, but he kind of feels...sorry for him?

Besides, it doesn't seem like there are many other options. Deciding that Damien doesn't seem like the kind of person who would take kindly to pity, he clears his throat and looks back at the man in front of him.

"And I can't talk to anyone."

"Nope."

There's a pause, long enough to be extremely awkward but not long enough that either of them are willing to do anything about it. "Your room's upstairs," Damien says, eyes shifting back to the book still clutched in his left hand.

"My room."

"Okay, your cell. The fuck do you want me to refer to it as?"

Adam shrugs, smirking. "The Cave Of Impenetrable Doom."

"Alright, Smaug," Damien says, and Adam cautiously heads upstairs. 

* * *

It lasts almost three days, this tentative balance, this edging around each other and sitting on the precipice of something. Adam has to admit that Damien has an impressive selection of books (though he's not sure why the man hasn't learned more from them). It's more or less how he imagined the home of a twenty-something mind controller to look. However legally obtained, the furniture's comfy, and it's kinda nice to take his mind off things for a little bit.

Except.

Except he's still, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner.

Except he's not really sure who he can trust, or if he can trust himself.

Except that all his worries only leave him for a little bit before they're back in full force, if not worse than before, little voices gnawing at the back of his head in the empty spaces that are left for them no matter how cluttered it gets.

Except he's used to dating an empath, who practically knows what he feels before he can feel it, and Damien is so painfully, distressingly oblivious to anyone that is not himself.

With all of those facts in place, it's a god-ordained miracle that it takes three days for the fight to happen.

It all ends (or rather, begins) with a phone call. Damien trusts Adam more than he should, and when he's wandering the house looking for potential escape routes just in case, he walks into the living room to find Damien on the phone.

He has his mask on, the one that he tries his hardest to pretend is real. His voice is low and raspy. (In Adam's humble opinion, it makes him sound like the kind of person who would be into BDSM, but he has enough common sense to not say that out loud.) When he wants to be extremely threatening, he acts it out with his entire body, and his voice goes terrifyingly soft.

"Who you calling?" Adam mouths. Damien taps his phone, muting their end of the call.

"Ah, it's Wadsworth."

Adam does a mental double take. "What."

"Y'know. Your aunt."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Nope."

"C'mon."

"Not unless you like, pretend to scream or something. That'd be good."

"What?! Dude, she's still my aunt!"

"So?" Damien asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"No way!"

He rolls his eyes infuriatingly. "Ugh, why are you being so difficult?"

"Oh, oh. Let me get this straight, I'm the one being difficult."

"Yeah. You are," he says, pressing another button to hang up.

"I cannot _believe_ you. I thought that hanging with jocks would get me used to having people around whose heads are so deeply up their own asses but no, apparently, I still have to come into contact with people who are so thick that they can't stop to think about what other people want for 2.2 seconds." Adam's stood up by this point, fists clenched at his sides, staring Damien down. There's no way he can beat him in a fight, and he's not sure what he's going to do, exactly, but his blood is boiling.

"I am innately familiar with what people want. God, you're insufferable. What do you want me to do? Do you think I'm happy that I'm stuck babysitting some weirdo for days on end because apparently his aunt only has one weak spot?"

"No, Damien, you have no idea what people want because you're so busy imposing your stupid little ideas with that ability that you think makes you invincible. I have no idea what I can believe when I'm around you, do you have any idea how infuriating that is? To not be able to tell what's you and what's someone else, someone who seems to be increasingly determined to ruin your life?"

"Yes, I do, in fact. I have tried my absolute hardest to only exercise the bare minimum of my power here, because I thought that maybe I should try and be a nice person, and look where that got me! Getting lectured by some asshole teenager who can't cut me any slack!"

"Oh, so I don't have any reason to be lecturing you? In case you've forgotten, I'm still your prisoner. I am still not allowed to leave, I am still constantly under your supervision, I have still not had any contact with anyone that's not you for roughly a week. Honestly, I'm not even sure that's right either, because _someone_ took my phone and laptop. How do I know you didn't just up and kill everyone? How do I know, quite frankly, anything?"

"Listen, I'm not any happier with this than you are-"

"I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for you to ruin my life! You didn't even let me call my boyfriend!"

"That is 1) not my problem and 2) not my problem again, but in a larger font, and maybe Comic Sans."

"You are such a fucking jerk! This was supposed to be the summer when I applied to colleges and went to my boyfriend's sports games and pretended I knew what was happening, and instead I'm losing a month of my life trapped inside this glorified prison cell. My parents, my friends, my family are gonna be worried sick, but I guess you don't have any experience with those things, now, do you, Damien? All you know is how to push people away."

Damien is shaking now, and so is Adam, and Damien is trying to gain control of his mind but he is determined to keep him out with sheer, unadulterated rage. He feels as if he has crossed an unspoken, invisible line. In the back of his mind he knew he was pushing until the boundaries broke, until he screwed up, but he's never been one for careful.

"Fuck you, Adam," he says, before turning on his heel. Damien storms out into the street, and Adam goes up to his room and slams the door even if there's no one around to hear it.

* * *

It takes another four days after that (he begins to lose count) for things to start appearing in strategic places. The night following their argument, Damien stays out for hours on end. He doesn't show up again until 4 in the morning, and that's okay by Adam. He thanks his lucky stars that he thought to bring his favorite book so, being the English major that he is, he gets to chapter seven before he manages to lose himself and calm down.

Considering that the house is big but not that big, it's impressive that he manages to avoid almost any and all contact with Damien. The only exception is a very awkward trip to the kitchen, where upon finding the room occupied Adam got some granola and immediately backed out.

He spends 95% of his time in his room, and it doesn't matter how much of an introvert he is, the sheer lack of human contact sucks.

Then, little things just start... showing up. He gets back from the living room to find his favorite candy bar sitting on his pillow. He goes down to the kitchen and finds a few boxes of his favorite cereal. His shampoo runs out, and it's replaced the next time he goes to shower. He's both curious and mildly disturbed in parts, but mostly he's kind of touched that someone bothered to go to this much effort.

Even so, he's decided it's going to take more than this to get him to give in (considering he's still fucking kidnapped, really, and he's still standing by the points he made earlier). That's when the phone shows up.

On his bedside table is an unlocked, fully charged burner phone. Thinking it might be an accident, Adam turns it on, checking it over for any bugs. There doesn't seem to be any, so he dials the number he knows by heart.

"Hello?"

"Caleb," Adam breathes. There's a moment of silence, and then he can hear his boyfriend screaming at the rest of them as they gather around the phone.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I love you you must have been so worried I didn't have a phone until now-" Adam says in a rush.

"No, no, you shouldn't be the one apologizing. Where have you been-" Caleb says.

"If he hurt you, I swear-" Mark shouts.

"How'd you escape?" Sam says. There's a bunch of talking that Adam can't really make out, and then Frank is shouting for silence.

"In order: I think I'm at Damien's house, I was out for most of the ride here, he hasn't hurt me at all so far, and I didn't?"

"What do you mean you didn't?" Dr. Bright asks. There's a rustling, and he can tell she's holding the phone.

"It's a funny story. We got into this really big fight, and he's like, trying to apologize? So this phone showed up, probably because I yelled at him about not being able to talk to you guys."

"You yelled at him? And... And you're okay?" Chloe asks.

"There's a chance he's being manipulated," Frank saus under his breath, but Adam hears him anyway.

"I don't think so. I mean, there's always a chance, but he's never exactly subtle about using his powers, is he? When he tries to make me do what he wants, it feels like something's prying at my insides."

He can hear Mark and Joan's considering mutter from a mile away. "And you don't know what he wants you for?" she asks.

Adam tries to explain, tries to tell her that he wants his power gone and that he's not as tough as he tries to seem and that he's also a big fan of Twix bars, but he can't. There's a lump in his throat that he doesn't think has anything to do with mind control. How can you explain over the phone that the man who hurt your friend's brother is actually a pretty decent person when it comes down to it?

You don't, is the answer. You stumble over your words and come up with some lie that you're pretty sure nobody believes and that is exactly what Adam does. Joan actually trusts him, and he feels terrible betraying that, but it's not exactly a lie that he hasn't learned anything new.

Except that he has, and his summer of being a quiet English major and passionately kissing his boyfriend on Sundays during study sessions has turned into a summer of more learning than he can ever begin to comprehend.

"Okay. We can work with this. Do you think you can keep the phone?" Sam asks.

"Probably? I'm not sure. I'll call you back if I learn anything. I mean, if I can."

"We're going to get you home, Adam," Mark says.

They go over a few minor details, is he sure he doesn't know where he is, are there any new bruises he doesn't remember getting, is he positive he's alright. Yes, no, yes, okay, I will, all the usual one word answers over and over again until his mind is numb.

Suddenly, Chloe speaks, and he can feel her smile through the phone. "I think we should let Caleb have some time alone to talk to Adam." He hears Sam make a wheezing noise, and Chloe hissing at her to shut up.

"Sounds good," Frank says, and Caleb groans.

"You're so good at being subtle," Adam laughs.

"Aren't we," Chloe says, and he can hear the door closing. Suddenly, it's just the two of them. His pulse beats steady in his chest, a rhythmic whisper of Caleb's name repeated over and over again. There's a momentary silence.

"I love you," he says.

Adam can feel Caleb's grin through the phone. "I love you too. I miss your dimples so much, you idiot. There's been no one around to keep me green."

Adam, the hopeless romantic that he is, thinks he might start crying. "So. You done anything interesting?"

"Not really. Alice got a big part in the school play. There's been a lot of purple in my house lately. It's nice, to counteract all the orange."

He nods before realizing that Caleb can't see him. "You can't see me, but I'm nodding."

He laughs. "I figured."

There's a crash from outside, and Adam goes to look out the window. Damien is laying flat on his back, looking dazed. It becomes immediately clear that he has tried to climb a tree to reach the kitten that sits at the top and promptly fell out of it. The cat stares down at him smugly, licking itself and remaining where it is. Adam snorts before remembering he's supposed to be mad and turning back to the phone.

"What was that?"

"Damien fell out of a tree chasing a fucking cat."

"Damien. If that asshole hurts you-" he growls.

Adam smiles bittersweetly to himself. "He said the second day I was here, and I quote, 'I'm not going to do anything, partly because of your jock ass boyfriend who's not afraid to kill a bitch.' I'd like you to know that's your new contact name."

They spend the next four hours talking, with someone occasionally stopping in to join the conversation. They talk about all the usual things: school and college and new music. Chloe and Frank have two new paintings that Dr. Bright decided she is going to buy and put in her office. Sarah, her assistant, has been showing up twice a day at the gallery with Starbucks coffee, perfectly manicured nails, and an expression of utmost exasperation to try and purchase at least one of them.

Sam and Chloe decided that the fact that they lived next to a lake and never did anything on it was a travesty, as was the fact that Sam was sitting on a small fortune. With that being decided, they showed up that night with the best jet-ski money could buy. Mark asked Sam for a small loan of a million dollars, and she chased him around the house for a solid twenty minutes trying to dump an entire gallon of orange juice on his head. The next day, they dragged everyone to the lake.

("Even Dr. Bright. It was so awkward, Adam. Like seeing your mom, but in a bikini."

"You actually dragged her away from work?"

"I'm pretty sure Mark like, sold his soul or something for that. I ended up helping them rent a bouncy house."

"You're in a safe house, darling."

"We know that. Now it's a slightly bouncier safe house.")

Eventually, painstakingly, they both agree to hang up and call back whenever Adam can. He puts the phone down where it was, and the next day it disappears; he figures this is the closest Damien has ever come to an apology. Adam considers his options.

* * *

 

It's been five days of not talking, stubbornly refusing to even be in the same vicinity as Damien, when everything goes to shit. Adam can feel the constant push, knows that Damien wants him to talk, but his lingering anger is slowly subsiding and he thinks that he's going to give in eventually, either of his own accord or Damien's.

It turns out Damien isn't the only one who has gotten too comfortable. He's never home, and Adam has no idea where he goes, as he still has no intention of talking to him. Blessedly, Damien let him keep his iPod. Honestly, nothing can make you feel better than blaring Broadway musicals and dramatically acting them out. Nothing.

So, using his usual strategy, he doesn't hear the lock clicking open, or the footsteps leading up to his room, or the knock at the door.

Adam does, however, see Damien. Damien sees him and freezes, and Damien knows, and Adam knows he knows.

Adam's wearing a loose tank top, so his upper arms and torso are in full view. So are the straight, uniform marks and burn scars that dot them, mingling with his freckles.

"Um," Damien says. "I can, uh-"

Adam bolts into the bathroom. His breath is coming in uneven pants, his ears are ringing, and his hands are shaking. He sinks to the ground, and the white noise dulls only enough to where he can hear a vague shouting. It finally subsides so he can make out Damien's words.

"Hey, kid! Adam! I'm gonna come in, okay?"

"Okay," he stutters. "I'm sorry I didn't know you'd be home you must think I'm pathetic-"

"Hey. Listen to me, okay? Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Like that. Good." He lets Damien talk to him, grounding him. His powers, for once, seem to be having a soothing effect, and Adam is content to let them.

Once the tears on his face are dry and he's left with nothing but a drained and exhausted feeling, he realizes where he is.

Namely, on the bathroom floor after a panic attack with the man who kidnapped him that he's been giving the silent treatment for a week, looking like death warmed over.

"I guess this is where we're supposed to have A Talk," Damien says finally. "I've never been very good at this part."

"Me neither," Adam admits.

"Who else knows?"

A pause. "My parents. My therapist."

Damien exhales. "Good. Ok, fuck, I'm so glad you're getting help. I never really could."

Adam nods before stopping and glancing over at him. He's been wrapped in a blanket, so he shifts it higher on his shoulders before speaking. His head is still spinning slightly, so he's sure he must have misunderstood. "What do you mean, you never could?"

"Uh. I, I just meant-" Damien shakes his head slightly. "You know what, fuck it." He clears his throat awkwardly. "When I was thirteen, my parents left." A pause. "I guess, occupational hazard of being a mind controller. I got into a fight with them about something and the thing is, I didn’t have good control over it back then, when it first started. It was stronger, too. We were fighting and I told them to leave me alone and they did. Forever."

Adam furrows his brows. "What?"

"And after it I- I needed a distraction. From my own mind. So I, y'know. Hurt myself."

"What."

Damien nods in what is obviously supposed to be a reassuring way.

"But you've, I don't know. You seem like you've just- got your shit together?" Adam waves his hand in the air exasperatedly.

"Adam," Damien says, and when he turns to face him, he's half smiling. "I have been described many, many ways. Never in my life has anyone considered me, the asshole who never got out of his emo phase and is holding a teenager hostage for lack of a more effective plan, to have my shit together."

There's another pause, less awkward this time. Adam clears his throat. "You don't still- y'know."

"Not for a while, I haven't. I didn't- I mean, I ended up going through therapists like it was nothing, because they couldn't deal with me, or whatever. It took a while to get over it."

"You don't ever really get over it," Adam says softly. "You don't ever really get over the fact that you should've done better."

"You can't beat yourself up."

"You do," Adam points out, and he doesn't realize it's true until he's said it.

"I," Damien continues, "am hardly the model of a healthy lifestyle."

"You had a cause for it, though. I was just so empty, so numb all the fucking time, and I didn't even have a reason."

"Sounds like a reason to me."

Adam shrugs.

"We're not perfect, though," Damien says. "No matter how much we want to be."

Adam rolls his eyes. "Next thing I know you're gonna be my new therapist."

"I'm right, though. None of us are the same person that we were yesterday, or last month, or last year."

"What if I keep messing up?"

"I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with bad intentions. But really, you keep messing up, because you keep living. That's the way it is. You're going to keep on living, and so am I, and one day we'll look back on the month we spent with cabin fever inside my stolen apartment and remember the good old days."

Adam smiles. "I don't think I've ever once considered these to be the good old days."

"There's always a first for everything." He pauses. "I had the bare minimum of human interaction for about a year. Almost drove me insane. I remember there was a solid three months when I only interacted with an Ikea delivery man."

Adam hesitates. "Why?"

"I didn't- I guess I wanted to keep people safe. I didn't want to be the reason someone got hurt. I guess that's changed, too."

"You've made a lot of dick moves," Adam considers.

"Amen," Damien responds.

"And I'm not saying it's going to be easy, because it's not. But what I am going to say is this- If you ever want to make  
an effort, and make yourself a good person, not just trying to be a great one, I think there'll be a place for you."

Damien smiles, and there's a trace of melancholy behind it. "I'd like to believe that."

There's another pause, this one longer and more awkward than all the previous ones combined. They become increasingly more aware of the fact that they are still on the bathroom floor, surrounded by questionable stains, having a conversation about the deep moral crises of life. They are both incredibly, incredibly stubborn people.

"You stayed in your house for how long?"

"A while. Why?"

"...Does that mean you haven't seen Star Wars?"

Damien actually laughs at that. "Of course I've watched Star Wars. I was a hermit, not a heathen."

"You know what, we should rewatch them. The prequels, the original trilogy, the sequels, the bonus content. Everything."

"Everything? Now?"

"We are going to be stuck in this house for God knows how long. Let's watch some damn Star Wars."

Damien clears his throat. "You could leave. Y'know. If you wanted to. I wouldn't stop you."

Adam sighs, all the anger and fear from the last week and even the last hour leaving him exhausted. "At this point, I think I'm in it for the long haul. I've heard what my aunt does. I've- I've seen what she can do to people's lives. But we have to be partners in it, okay? No more lies. No more threatening to kill me."

"Okay."

"Or my friends."

"Probably."

He gives him a look of despair.

"Ok, yes, god, fine." Damien throws his hands up in defeat. "You'll do this?"

Adam nods, because he is systematically inclined to hopeless causes. "I can help you get the antidote if you really want it."

Damien nods and helps him off the bathroom floor, where they have successfully had their existential crisis, and the pair sets off to figure out where the DVD player is. 

* * *

Everything, of course, goes to hell in a handbasket for the fourth time that week, and Adam doesn't expect anything less from his life. Him and Damien are in the middle of a Star Wars marathon, and he goes to the kitchen for more cereal while still in the middle of a debate.

"Listen, I know you're pro Jar Jar, but quite frankly, that's a shit opinion. Just. Why would you even." He's skipped past the bowl part and is shoving Captain Crunch in his mouth, pouring 2 percent in as a chaser. "I mean, you like buttermilk. I should have seen this coming. No one likes buttermilk and has good opinions on Jar Jar fucking Binks."

It's for this reason that he doesn't realize that the living room has gone quiet and oddly, unnaturally still, until he walks in on a furious Joan about to deck Damien in the face. "You probably put him in the basement when you figured out he was inconvenient, you absolute-"

"Hey howdy hey, let's all calm down here and please do not do anything illegal, but I mean I think we crossed that boundary when I wasn't even born yet," Adam says, and they all stop to look up at him. Caleb runs over and flings his arms around him, sloshing milk all over the place.

The heat of Caleb is so nice and warm and familiar that he takes a moment to let the world pause. When they finally break apart, he looks back at Damien and bites back a groan. He's put his walls up, and is looking at the seven equally tense faces staring back at him.

"Damien, calm-" he tries.

"How did you find me." He shakes his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Just get out."

"Not without Adam," Mark snarls, stepping closer.

"I think you will. You wouldn't want me to use more drastic measures."

"You can't control all of us forever," Chloe scoffs.

"Are you willing to bet a life on that?" Damien asks quietly.

"Stop!" Adam snaps. "Just stop, and we can help you."

"I don't think you can." An unreadable expression crosses his face.

There's a bit of a blackout in Adam's memory, the screeching of metal on metal and a glint of steel, and then he's stepping away from Adam and-

The cold barrel of a gun is pressing into the back of his head, and he's the one holding it. As much as he wants to be doing it, he absolutely does not, shit, shit, _shit_ -

"Okay. So, we crossed the line of legality," Adam says, unnaturally calm.

"Here's what's going to happen," Damien says, voice sharp and dangerous, pretending it isn't shaking. "You all are going to get out of here and not come back until I've used Adam for what I needed to begin with. You have three minutes until the kid dies, perfectly framed as a suicide."

"You wouldn't," Sam breathes.

"You're in no position to tell me what I would and wouldn't do."

"If you lay a fucking hand on him, I will-" Caleb yells, and Adam silently wills his boyfriend to shut up.

"Adam. Take off the safety," Damien purrs.

He winces, adrenaline and fear making his mind hyperfocused, hoping against hope that these people he loves so much will leave with more than a corpse. He waits for his finger to click the button, signaling his death.

Nothing.

He waits a moment more. No one in the room moves.

Nothing.

Carefully, cautiously, Adam eases his arm down, clutching the gun to his side.

No one even dares to breathe.

"Okay," Adam says, almost silently. "I would really rather not die today, if at all possible."

Damien furrows his brow. "I don't- I don't understand why-"

Adam, who is definitely still riding the high of having to deal with the threat of instant death via mind manipulation, rolls his eyes. "It's because you don't want me to."

"What."

"It's because you don't want me to, so I don't want to, so your power doesn't work."

"What are you talking about, of course I want it to-"

"Because you're not a complete and total dickbag," he interrupts.

"Adam!" Sam says.

"Pardon my French. Because you're not a complete and total asshat."

"Oh my God," says Joan, with a bewildered look on her face.

"What?" Caleb asks.

"They've become _friends_ ," Chloe whispers.

Adam bobs his head awkwardly in a mix between a nod and a shrug. "Now, if everyone is done using their powers and threatening to punch people and being absolute idiots for the moment, I think we would all benefit immensely from an actual conversation."

"I can't talk with him," Mark says, expression mutinous (understandable, Adam thinks).

"Joan."

"What do you want me to do?" she demands, bewildered.

"Adam, are you sure this is-" Caleb starts.

"Absolutely."

"He wants you to deal with this, because technically talking is your job. In a much more professional setting than this, granted, but it's still your forte. I know, it's a lot of pressure, he knows that too, but everyone's thoughts are kind of running together-"

"Chloe," Sam says gently.

She nods. "Right. Yes. Joan?"

Dr. Bright is still flustered in a way that almost never happens.

"You know what, he's right. We are going to sit down, or maybe pace around some, in this living room, and have a conversation like civilized adults," Sam says reluctantly.

They all take seats around the room. There is an incredibly, incredibly awkward silence, where no one is going to be the one to make the first move and, if Caleb's hand clutching Adam's in a death grip is any indicator, everyone still really wants to commit a homicide.

Damien is the first to break the silence.

"I'm sorry."

"What?" Mark says.

He looks up suddenly. "I'm fucking sorry, okay? It was a shitty thing and I just- I didn't know what else to do but that doesn't make it alright."

"Damn right it doesn't." Joan's eyes flash.

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?"

"You are fucking unbelievable, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm the unbelievable one. You're the one that didn't tell me about the thing I had asked for for years."

"Excuse me if I wasn't particularly inclined to tell everything to the person messing up my head!"

"I spent so long worrying about Mark-"

"You convinced me that Sam wasn't even real-"

"In my defense, I was never told that Sam existed, and besides, you never told him who you were working with-"

"It never came up!"

"Oh, what, were you too busy fucking in a bush back in the Middle Ages?"

"Let me go! I'm going to throttle him-"

"That's illegal, Sam!"

"I don't give a damn!"

"Should we stop them?" Caleb asks quietly.

"I think it's better if we just let this play out."

It turns out that a significant amount of extremely pissed off people can argue for a long, long, long time. Somewhere around hour one and a half, Adam and Caleb sneak out to the car and drive home.

* * *

Four months have passed since that day, and slowly they've begun to obtain some semblance of the word normal. One day, while he's at Caleb's house, he explains where he really got his scars in shaky, stuttering sentences. Adam reacts better than he ever could have imagined. (If there's a world where Caleb will not forever and always support Adam, they are not truly the same people.)

Damien, contrary to popular opinion, actually shows up at Dr. Bright's office. For the first few sessions, Mark insists on being in the next room over in case anything goes wrong.

Adam asks Caleb out for Valentine's Day, and they spend the afternoon catching a movie and wandering the mall. (Adam absolutely drags Adam into Hot Topic.)

It's exceptionally hard to trust a man that had a part in ruining your life, so it's honestly covering major ground that Damien doesn't get decked in the face any more than he does. (Twice, not counting Sam's epic punch after Damien's return.)

Once, Adam's sitting on the roof, strumming a ukulele that Sam got him for Christmas. He's become inexplicably good at it, though he'll never tell anyone. He likes to come to the top of Chloe's apartment building and watch the sunset, observe the city begin to gain its second wind and light up for the night crowd.

"I'm graduating to weird uncle status," Damien says from behind him. He's become accustomed by this point to Damien showing up places he has no business being, so he nods.

"You are indeed."

They don't say anything else, just watch the stars rise above them together.

Mark, a true force of hellfire and rage, still holds a fondness he can't quite explain for Damien. Whether it's manipulation, or attraction, or any of the above, he holds conversations with Damien occasionally, calls him for advice about interior decorating (which Damien has a surprising flair for) and answers questions about photography. The newest model of his choice camera shows up on his doorstep. Damien receives a call later that night.

"Is this a bribe?"

"Is it working?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

"Was this camera legally obtained?"

"Do you want to be able to claim plausible deniability?"

Mark hangs up the phone.

Damien receives one artistic shot per week, stapled with more force than necessary into the molding of his back door.

Mark still wakes up sometimes, drenched in sweat, shouting bits and pieces of memories that he wants to push away. He can see, he knows that his sister is right, and he needs a more objective perspective on this, but he can't, he just-

One day, Adam ends up at Mark's for the night when his parents aren't home and there's nothing better to do.

It's one of those nights.

Adam murmurs reassurances to him, tells him he's safe and home and should he go and get Sam. He doesn't want to worry her, so he tries his best to go back to sleep. He wakes up the next morning with an empty apartment, a plate of pancakes (burnt and inedible, but it's the thought that counts), and a card for a therapist.

It takes him three weeks to work up the nerve to make an appointment.

It helps more than he's ever going to be able to express.

Chloe, Chloe who is honestly sweet and pure and too good for this world, immediately kicks Damien in the balls the first time she sees him in Dr. Bright's office. Once she's been assured that he (probably) means them no harm, and if he does they will kick his ass, she begrudgingly puts up with him being on the premises.

Frank, militarily precise and full of emotions that aren't his, accepts Damien quicker than almost anyone else. No one else sees the talk that they have in a back room, waiting for Chloe to get out of her art studio and come to Dr. Bright's office. It involves numerous inventive threats of bodily harm should any of Frank's friends ever be injured, a resigned amount of understanding, and a bunch of slightly falsetto 'yes sir's on the part of Damien.

Caleb doesn't trust Damien, understandably, not for a long time, but Adam sees that he's not a complete loss, and Caleb trusts Adam, and Damien has a soft spot for rebellious queer teenagers.

Sam takes the longest of all of them to come around, and Damien honestly doesn't mind if she never does. He screwed up her life almost beyond repair, and she remains nothing but indifferent to him for an incredibly long time. One night, he wakes up in the middle of Scandinavia woodland circa 1549, and remains there for a few hours.

She neither confirms nor denies being involved in this, but does talk to him significantly more afterwards.

Joan drinks more heavily after her and Damien's first few sessions. He should, for all intents and purposes, be referred to another therapist, but the AM likes to keep tabs on him, and she likes to help them do so. It's therapeutic for her, in a way, unraveling all the things that make Damien tick.

Adam tries out for the school play, and actually gets the lead. His parents tell him over dinner that night that there's no way he can make it. He's not sure how they figure it out (probably his lunch with Chloe and Sam the next day), but the two of them, Joan, Frank, Caleb, and Mark are front and center every single night.

He's not sure if he's the only one that sees a douchebag leather coat in a box seat, cheering louder than anyone, but they both pretend it never happened beyond Damien winking at him from across the crowded lobby before disappearing into the chaos.

Slowly, though some of them are more loathe to admit it than others, the seven of them grow into a close knit group.

* * *

Today, Sam has invited everyone over for her birthday, and Adam hasn't felt this calm in years. The breeze off the lake washes salt over his skin. Fairy lights hang off the porch, illuminating the shore along with the fading sunlight. The slight grey rumble of a storm rolling in the distance pervades the atmosphere.

Mark and Sam are arguing with Damien and Chloe about the latter blaring pop music. He is filled with a deep longing for right here; this is the kind of moment that should have poems written about it. He longs to capture it, hold it in his hand now and forever. Next to him, Caleb is sketching, some brilliant doodle with brilliant shading. Glancing over, Adam realizes it's a drawing of him and blushes.

Frank sneaks over, under the radar, and switches the pop to Sinatra. He offers Joan a hand, and they sway and dance to the music. Damien wolf whistles, and Chloe punches him lightly in the side. Billy Joel blares next, a sweet and melancholy song that reminds Adam of the color purple.

The music switches back to indie pop (courtesy of Mark) with a beat that makes him want to dance, so he does. He looks down at Adam, still scribbling furiously at the background, detailing the dimples. He extends a hand.

"May I have this dance, my good sir?"

Caleb looks up at him and grins. "You may." They dance, entwined in each other, until the music fades away completely.

They are brought back down to earth by Chloe cannonballing into the lake. Her tank top is in the colors of the ace flag. Mark and Joan are arguing loudly about the fact that he bought a fidget spinner. The future is always going to be uncertain, but some things are certain. He is safe, surrounded by people he loves and who love him back, people who are trying to be their best selves.

One of these days, he'll have to face his aunt, but today is not that day. For the time being, now is all that matters, and they are suspended in the present.

The music winds to a finish, harmonies melding together, and Adam makes a mental note to hijack the stereo system later for some Broadway.

He glances back at Caleb, who is practically swimming in his eyes, and gently presses their lips together. Every kiss feels like their first, nerves jolting and stomach twisting, warmth mixing together into a green that he can feel even without being an empath. Dramatically, Adam (who has a good 7 inches on Caleb) sweeps his boyfriend into a dip, still entwined in each other like it's where they're meant to be.

Suddenly, like the world orchestrated it, lightning illuminates the sky. A slight drizzle turns into a downpour; thunder rolls across the sky. The grey murkiness beyond the trees that they've been ignoring has finally caught up to them. Rain drenches them, splattering across everything, and Chloe flings her face up to the sky.

"Save my speakers!" Sam yells, laughing.

Once everyone is inside, and changed into dry clothes, and Frank is successful at setting a fire in Sam's resplendent fireplace, the usual argument ensues about who's going to be cooking. (Caleb, who isn't half bad, and Mark, who has classical training, are voluntold.)

All seven of them gather in the kitchen that bleeds into the dining room, some gathering at the table, some trying to steal bites, some actually helping. Sam tries (and fails miserably) to help Mark get the spaghetti together by opening a can of tomatoes.

"Do you think I should put more sugar in this? No, I mean, I didn't read the recipe but- oh. Yeah, Frank's right, you should only use that much for the tops of the meringue and the pudding-" Chloe rambles.

Adam looks at the television in the corner, sighing melodramatically. "Tom Hardy is a beefy slice."

Caleb tries and fails to muffle his laughter. "A beefy slice of what? Beef?"

Adam scrunches up his nose in thought. "Mince pie? I don't know, something British."

Sam finally gives up her struggles and sets the tomatoes down on the counter. "I cannot get this can opener to work so, for the love of all that is good, someone else do it."

"Does that mean it's a can't opener?" Caleb asks.

"I'm suing."

Around the table, Joan, Damien, and Frank are debating the merits of each candy bar.

"I'm fond of Kit Kats. Of course, you can't snap them into two like the commercials would have you believe," Joan says matter-of-factly.

"Who doesn't do that?" Frank asks.

"I bite into my Kit Kats!" Adam protests. Damien groans with the air of a man betrayed and passes both of the others ten dollars.

"You're betting on my Kit Kat eating habits?" Adam demands with mock offense.

"With all due respect, which is none, you're the one that bites straight into the Kit Kat. That's the entire point! You don't do that!" Chloe retorts.

Sam, letting Caleb open the tomatoes and fix the sauce, has finally finished carrying all of her sound equipment indoors. Immediately, Adam creeps over, connects his phone, and starts blaring Les Mis.

"No!" Damien cries.

"Aren't you into, like, emo stuff? That's what I've always heard."

"There is nothing in this world more emo than Les Mis, Sam," replies Adam.

"He's not wrong," Caleb says, continuing to stir the pasta. "You've heard of My Chemical Romance, now get ready for Empty Chairs At Empty Tables."

"How old are you turning again, Sam?" Chloe asks. "60? 70?"

"I'm five years older than you."

"That's what they all say, Grandma," Mark says. She throws the towel she's holding at him.

"When are we opening presents?" Frank asks, barely able to be heard over the extremely loud "another day, another destiny" coming from the stereo, echoing throughout the house, and being assisted by several people's questionable singing.

"We can do it here in a few minutes. Let Caleb get the garlic knots ready." Mark is already getting everyone's drinks together.

"I am eating Captain Crunch for dinner in rebellion of your terrible music tastes," Damien grumps.

"I ate it all," Adam replies, sitting on top of the kitchen counter. Chloe swats him away with a spatula.

Adam launches himself into the living room, laughing, and realizes this is exactly where he's meant to be. This is his family, a group of misfits that have made themselves a home wherever the world will let them. They weren't okay, exactly, not yet.

They would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. listen my dude, i have no fuckening idea where this came from. i love all the characters equally but somehow, somehow it ended up as just adam and damien, and this all ended up being written at 4 am, so here we are.
> 
> i have a ton of other ideas i wanna write too involving all the characters though, so hopefully i'll get those written soon.
> 
> Title from Tonight Tonight by Hot Chelle Rae which strikes me as the song for this fic for reasons I can't quite name. It was a tie between that and Sharp Edges by Linkin Park. In my mind, the song playing in the last scene is Vienna by Billy Joel, so I'm putting it here too.
> 
> This is the first idea that has really seized me and wouldn't let go until i finished it since my first bmc fic.
> 
> every time i proofread the scene where damien pulls a gun my brain immediately jumped to MAMA. JUST KILLED A MAN PUT MY GUN AGAINST HIS H E A D and that has been my struggle
> 
> just assume that all the Deep And Vital Emotional Conversations that happen in episode 40 that don't directly involve Adam happen when he's not there, with the catalyst being adam being gone instead of damien getting hurt.
> 
> As always, comments are extremely appreciated, and feel free to hit me up @doingthewritethings on Instagram.


End file.
